Darkly Treacherous

By: xxlostdreamerxz

Disclaimer: No, I do not own HP.

Chapter 25: Beneath the Fading Star

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star. T.S. Eliot

Dungeons
'Fucking ba-'

Remus Lupin gave a pained grunt as the Death Eater slowly slide a silver knife down between his shoulder blades, leaving a trail of blood and blistering red skin. Restraining the urge to flinch, he did his best to remain still so he wouldn't further upset his raw wrist by touching his loose silver manacles.

The Death Eater hissed softly in delight as he watched a trail of crimson red blood flow towards the ground. Raising his knife towards his mouth, he licked the red liquid off as his eyes filled with bloodlust.

"Does the little werewolf feel faint?" he asked mockingly, as he made a quick slashing motion with his wand cutting deeply into the other man's skin. "Does it want to play some more?"

Remus lifted his head and spat at the man's face.

The man's eyes darkened with hate, before he backhanded Remus with all his might. "You dare make a mockery out of me?" he hissed, as he raised both of his knives now with the intention to kill, not...play.

"No, that's none of my doing," Remus retorted, hoping against hope that the man would finally free him from the pain. "You're already possess the ideal image of a fool."

The man bared his teeth. "Is that so, werewolf?"

Remus rolled his eyes. What was it with these evil sorts? "Of course," he said dryly, "I wouldn't have said so otherwise would I?"

The man let out a roar of defiance and charged towards Remus, his knives raised and ready for the kill.

Remus closed his eyes as he waited for the killing blow. Images of his past, his life, flashed before him - his first encounter with James and Sirius, their first prank, Lily and James smiling at him as he visited for breakfast, Nate staring up at him with round cheerful eyes, and Harry...looking so sad, so surprised when he received his fifth birthday present. Remus bowed his head in defeat. He had made so many mistakes in the past...but now, it'd finally be over.

Death - black, inky darkness - would cradle him back home...

His eyes snapped open in surprise as heard a the cell door open with a deadening thump. And then, Remus found himself staring into a pair of familiar angry golden brown eyes.

"Crucio."

The Death Eater, who now stood about a foot away from Remus, dropped his knives and fell to the ground screaming.

"How dare you!" the boy hissed furiously, as he stalked towards the shaking Death Eater, taking care to increase the potency of the spell. "He is my prisoner. Mine. No one was to harm him unless I gave them permission."

The Death Eater thrashed about violently as blood began to spill from his mouth.

"You disobeyed orders," Alex spat darkly, as he finally released the curse. "Not only mine but my father's as well."

The man trembled in fear, before stuttering out a feeble. "M'lord...I..." However, he quickly fell silent at Alex's dark glare.

"Do you know what the penalty is for your crime?"

"Err...a few Crucios, M'lord?"

Alex gave him a feral smile. "Yes, well, you might think that seeing as how you're a new recruit..."

"Jenson," the man supplied promptly. "Arigen Jenson"

"Right, Jenson," Alex repeated. "But I suppose, whichever fool allowed you in here, obviously hadn't properly acquainted you with the laws and the consequences that you'd face."

Jenson swallowed fearfully. "And what might those be m' lord?"

Alex's bared his teeth and smiled wider. "Why Death of course, Jenson!" he said mockingly, as he began circling the now quickly paling man. "

"But, but I didn't know!"

Alex's eyes glittered mockingly. "Ignorance is not an excuse here at this compound."

The Death Eater bit his lips fearfully. "H-how will I die?"

The boy shrugged. "That would depend upon my father, actually," he said cruelly, watching the Death Eater's face drain instantly of all color. "He has this unusual fetish for torture and likes to make an example out of...fools."

Jenson looked ready to faint.

"But..." Alex gave the man a conspiring grin. "If you give me the names of your co-conspirators, I might consider letting you off with a painless killing curse."

The man's eyes brightened with hope. "Do you really mean it?"

'Idiot.' Alex rolled his eyes. "Of course."

Without a second of hesitation, Jenson began reeling off a few names. "Nott, Malfoy and Parkinson. They told me that there was a werewolf down here and that our Lord would be pleased if I were to set an example of Death Eater conduct."

Alex could help but gape at the man's sheer idiocy. How could anyone be manipulated but such a simple, pathetic, lie was beyond him.

Jenson turned his eyes towards Alex. "Please? Can you do it now?"

Alex sighed and raised his wand. "Avada Kedavra." The idiot Death Eater fell down with a large thump, dead as a doornail.

So...the inner circle was responsible for this. Alex shook his head in disgust. By disregarding his possession and the Dark Lord's orders, the Inner Circle had all but declare a challenge.

One that he had to meet with strength and cunning, or else resign himself to a miserable torturous death.

Alex sighed.

'I hate being the Dark Heir.'

Remus Lupin, honorary Light werewolf, stared at the boy with a puzzled expression. It was strange, you see, that even after seeing and experience the boy's dark side...he couldn't hate him. He knew the boy was ruthless; knew that he would lie and cheat to get his way; knew that the boy was a murderer, and yet, he couldn't hate him. The boy reminded him of someone.

Someone familiar.

"Finite Incantatem" the boy murmured, pointed his wand towards Remus's manacles and chains. And with that said, the chains disappeared and Remus collapsed into a relieved heap onto the ground.

The two of them studied each other silently.

Alex looked away first. "Turn over," he ordered, using his wand to levitate Remus into the air. When the man refused to do as he was told, Alex grumbled and rolled the werewolf over.

"What are you doing?" Remus demanded weakly. 'Merlin, please, not more torture!'

The boy gave him a strange glance. "Healing you of course."

Remus's brain froze at those words. 'Healing!'

Working quickly, the boy hastily cast a few diagnostic charms before healing the worst of Remus's wounds. Alex frowned as he encountered a few broken bones.

He hadn't covered bone-growing spells yet. And he doubted he could sneak any potions out of his father's lab without getting caught.

"Why are you scowling so fiercely?"

Alex shook his head in self-disgust. "I ditched my lessons last week and didn't learn how to knit bones."

Remus nodded.

There was a short awkward silence, as Remus stared at the boy in mounting confusion. He knew that boy. He had to have!

"May I ask you a question?"

Alex suddenly looked weary, but dipped his head in agreement.

"Why do you serve Voldemort?" Remus questioned. "You could be so much more if you leave."

Alex shook his head in amusement. "Why else, because I care for him. He is my father after all."

Remus shook his head. "But you do not support his ideals."

Alex's jaw tightened, but he forced a smile. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

The werewolf grinned lightly. "Well, you did heal me," he said gently. "Any other Death Eater would have let me rot rather than waste their magic."

The boy shrugged, but remained quiet.

Remus pushed. "Just think about it. If you leave you wouldn't have to follow orders anymore or do anything you don't want to do. You'll be free."

The boy's gave him a hollow smile. "Right...and I suppose the Light side would welcome me back with open arms."

Remus nodded, frowning slightly at the word 'back'. "Why of course! I mean, it wasn't your fault that you turned dark. Voldemort was the one who kidnapped you from your rightful home and place..."

Alex's eyes flared with anger. "I never had a home," he spat.

Remus's eyes widened in surprise and confusion. "Oh, pardon me, did you live on the streets?"

Alex gave him a dark mysterious smile, before turning away. "Don't bother, werewolf," he said almost gently. "My loyalty lies with my father and nothing, not even freedom would make me give it up."

"But why?" demanded Remus. "What good has Voldemort ever done!"

Alex shook his head sadly. "What else? He gave me a place to call home." And loved me with ever fiber of his broken soul.

Remus sighed. "Very well, even though you insist upon being so stubborn, I...thank you."

The tension in the air was so thick it was almost tangible, as the Dark Heir gave Remus a level stare. Alex cringed as he saw a hint of gratitude and relief in Remus's eyes. 'Merlin, why can't you just hate me?' his mind screamed murderously. 'I am your enemy now Uncle. Why can't you accept that!'

"You've been relatively...kind to me during my stay," Remus continued softly, his amber eyes filled with warmth. "Well, as kind as one in your position could afford to be And while I hold no illusions about my future, or lack of in this case," Remus's lip twitched into a wan smile. "I want to thank you for everything you've done for me."

"No. Never say that." Alex turned away, suddenly tired. "Don't bother thanking me."

Remus frowned in confusion, as he studied the boy's stiff posture.

"...since you'd regret your words tomorrow."

Hogwarts
'Merlin, we're doomed.'

Whilst James was normally an optimist, when faced with such daunting...things before him, it was all that he could do not to burst into hysterics and run out of the room in horror. This was not right. No, this was pretty much as far from right as possibly. It was Wrong, with a capital W.

Here they were the night before their suici- ahem, rescue attempt, and the entire Order was in an uproar. But then again, he couldn't really blame them could he? After all, he was pretty sure he was one of those who'd been scared shitless at the time.

It had started off like any normal Order meeting would. The order members had filed in, neat and orderly as can be, whilst Dumbledore beamed brightly at them. Then they got down to business - or tried to at any rate.

With the rescue mission set for tomorrow, Dumbledore prompted the Order to generate a few schemes of their own. Schemes as in anything magical, scary, or just plain o' weird, that would down a Death Eater in an instant.

James shuddered as he tried to shake that image out of his mind.

Everything was normal for a bit, as Mad-Eye promptly suggested various schemes that they could use to...hurt (kindly said) any badass Death Eater. Then as a collaborate team, the Order had managed to come up with a fairly decent rescue plan. One where they might actually have a chance at surviving.

A chance, just one itsy-bitty chance would do.

James sighed in despair.

And then, it had happened. Padfoot, after being ignored for over a hour or so, was determined to dish in his two cents. Sirius believed, strangely enough, that they needed a 'scare factor' involved with they wanted to complete this mission.

So with that said, he transfigured himself...into it.

It was very scary. With a large oversized clown costume, matched with an evil grin and blood red eyes, Sirius resembled Voldemort himself. James sighed. And then, the Order erupted with chaos as a maddened Voldemort clown chased everyone around in circles.

And worse, even Dumbledore joined the fray.

James shook his head in amusement. It was just like Padfoot, flapping the unflappable. Why he'd never known that Dumbledore could run so fast or scream so loud.

The idea was just so Sirius.

"Well, Padfoot," he said dryly, after everyone finally settled down. "I suppose that monstrosity of yours will come in handy during our mission."

The Order nodded fearfully in agreement.

After all, if something could scare the shit out of Dumbledore, the Death Eaters wouldn't be able to stand a chance.

Hideaway
It was a fairly calm, typical day at the Hideaway. The ancient black oak trees, crinkled with age, faltered at the faintest sound of the wind, of music and of magic. Thorny gray bushes littered the area, growing in just the right positions as to offer the death eaters a perfect spot to collapse upon. After all, with so many idiots "practicing" how to duel in such a confined area, it was bout to bring about nothing but pain and misery.

And, of course, a god-nasty headache to one ruby-eyed dark lord as he watched his army decimate each other right before his eyes.

'Bloody idiots...' his mind snarled with mounting disgust, as he heard, rather than saw one of his Death Eaters trip and fall into one particularly evil looking thorn bush. Voldemort's eyes shifted ever so slightly towards his heir.

"Well?" he drawled, waiting patiently for the boy's response. It had become a game for them, as to speak, as they observed his idiot death eaters; the goal was simple, tear and shred apart anything so unfortunately happened to catch their eye.

Alex blinked, himself out of his reverie and glanced tiredly out the window. "I see Parkinson has yet to learn his lesson" he said evenly, "As much as he loves pain and err...buggering, it is not the best of ideas to get kicks from wild hedges."

"Yes, then are you suggesting tame ones?" drawled Voldemort, with a mixture of wicked amusement and concern in his eyes. That reply had been halfhearted at best, he noted. The boy had been brooding and frowning like mad since he'd finished torturing the werewolf. His ruby red eyes narrowed, as he carefully studied the boy's expressions.

Alex shrugged. "Perhaps," he said with a hint of a smile. "Though seeing as how Parkinson spends most of his time here, I honestly doubt you'd be happy with...white droppings all over our lawn," he finished slyly, just in time to catch his father grimace in disgust. His smile grew. It was always mighty fun to disconcert his dear o' dad.

Voldemort's lips twisted in horror and determination. "Brat..." he said coldly, as he leaned forward over the desk and met Alex's golden glaze. "...if you ever, and I repeat, ever make such a suggestion to Parkinson or any of my Death Eaters of doing that to my lawn..."

Alex blinked. He had been joking. 'Parkinson doesn't...' Alex froze in horror, as images of the foolish pug-faced man appeared before him. 'Does he?' his mind finished weakly.

"...I will skin you alive and feed your remains to Nagini."

The boy blinked once again, at the outlandish threat. Ah...he knew better than that! Nagini and his father wouldn't ever hurt him. Alex grinned in amusement, "I love you too father," he drawled, earning him loud 'bonk' on the head as one particularly large book zoomed over and slammed into him.

"Ow..." he pouted, giving his father a wounded glare.

"Bloody sentimental brat," Voldemort grumbled in practiced response, as he put aside his wand. After all, it would not do for the boy to get a concussion so soon. Voldemort's eyes darkened, as he recalled the why behind that. The boy has one week to secure the loyalty of his eight inner circle Death Eaters, or else die trying.

Hopefully that wouldn't happen.

There was a short silence, as both Alex and Voldemort traded uneasy glances. During their five or so years together, Alex had been surprised to discover how disturbingly similar he and his father actually were. They thought alike to such a degree that it sometimes gave him a weird deja-vu feel; not that it helped when his father voiced his thoughts almost word for word.

Creepy.

However, as his father had quickly pointed out how different their personalities were. Alex, despite all his teachings, still possessed a crippling sense of justice and compassion. Whilst he himself, was nothing more than a dark cruel o' bastard (he emphasized upon the cruel part). Unlike him, the boy cared about people too much; it made him vulnerable; it made him forgive far to easily. It made him too...Light. And it was this characteristic that Voldemort hated with a passion. Loath as he was to admit it, he was...concerned about the boy. He did not want Alex to die, after all...he'd gotten used to the boy's company after all these years.

"I assume, brat, that you have everything planned?" he drawled, peering cautiously at Alex. Voldemort fingered his wand impatiently, as the boy spared him a disturbingly innocent glance. "The inauguration brat! Surely you've given it some thought?"

"Of course I did," Alex retorted indignantly. "I'll...I'll..." A flicker of embarrassment crossed his usually neutral mask. "I've got it all planned," he said arrogantly. "Just you wait and see."

Voldemort sighed mentally, 'the brat probably forgot...again.' He glared at the boy with mounting frustration. What was wrong the brat? Surly he knew what was at stake? Alex had experienced first hand the stupid cruelty of his outer and middle circle. His Death Eaters were ruthless; their only concerns were power and prestige...and when something stood in their way, it was usually disposed of in a quick, messy way. But his inner circle was something else entirely. They possessed both the brains and brawn...

"If you insist," he drawled finally, as he fixed Alex with a dark stare with which the boy met easily. Voldemort's lips twitched. The boy was certainly brave, he had to admit. Not many were capable of holding his glaze for more then a few seconds at most. But in such cases as this inauguration, the boy's bravery was undoubtedly going to get him killed. The boy needed some help, but how in the bloody name of hell was he suppose to get past the boy's bloated self-determination and pride? His eyes widened fractionally in realization.

"Let's try an exercise, brat," he suggested, as he moved towards the window. Voldemort eyed swept across the grounds as he searched for a familiar tidy mop of white blonde hair. "Let's review and analyze the weaknesses and strengths, if any, of my stupid pet Death Eaters."

Alex shrugged. "Alright," he said, moving to stand next to his father. "Who's our first victim?'

As if right on cue, Voldemort spotted said blonde Death Eater near the edge of the field torturing another Death Eater. "Let's start with Lucius Malfoy."

Alex titled his head slightly and carefully studied the elderly man.

"What are his weaknesses?"

The boy snorted. "His hair, of course. It's such a god-damn eyesore that any Auror worth his salt would blast it off at first chance."

Voldemort's eye twitched. "I'm serious brat."

Alex pouted. "So was I!" he protested. "His hair is such a distinctive feature that all his opponents would know who and where he is. Besides..." He leaned conspicuously towards his father and whispered, "...I think all that bleach is hazardous to his health! I mean, you never know...he might just collapse and die one of these days."

"And you would be devastated, correct?" retorted Voldemort dryly.

Alex just grinned.

"What else, brat?" he prompted, looking pointedly at the elder Malfoy.

The boy's brow furrowed in concentration. "Well, he does seem a tad too...enthusiastic about torturing," he answered. Alex's eyes narrowed just in time to see Malfoy jump aside as a deadly yellow jet of light missed him by a matter of inches. "He enjoys it so much that he looses sight of his surrounds," he exclaimed. "He is also arrogant enough to believe that all other Death Eaters are too afraid to attack him when his back is turned."

"And..."

Alex frowned, as he watched the blonde retaliate. "And he has a proclivity towards Dark and powerful curses...especially those that expand a lot of magical power."

Voldemort nodded in approval. "Correct. So what would your plan be should you fight him?"

"Uhhh...I suppose I'd just dump a bucket of dirt and bugs on him," Alex tried weakly, as he met his father's disapproving stare. "He's such a nit-picky old man! He'd horrified." He grinned hesitantly. "And while he's mooning over his robes, I'd just blast him with a stunner?"

Voldemort closed his eyes and counted to ten. "Brat...that has to be the most embarrassing and stupid tactic I have ever heard," he said gruffly. "If you try that tactic, my inner circle will die of laughter."

Alex pouted once again. "But you have to admit that it is effective."

"Yes, but not practical," his father replied. "Try again."

He sighed. "I guess I should get someone to piss him off and then attack him from behind," he stated in a monotone voice. A brief smile flirted across his face, "Or I suppose I could just sic Parkinson on him," Alex said innocently. "Malfoy would be terrified."

Voldemort rubbed his temple in frustration. "The first part had merit," he admitted slowly, as if such an admission pained him. "However, for the rest was nothing more than useless, obscene prattle."

Alex rolled his eyes. "Can we move on, yet?" he wined. "Malfoy's boring."

"Very well," he relented, as he heard another scream. Looking up, Voldemort noted with grim satisfaction that Parkinson was still struggling to pulled himself out of the bush. "Tell me, brat, what are Parkinson's strengths?"

The boy looked at him like as if he'd suddenly sprouted wings and joined Dumbledore's crusade. "P-Parkinson?" Alex managed to stutter out. "...strengths?"

Voldemort flushed. "Yes. The man may be an imbecile, but he is a rather powerful one."

Alex shook his head in disbelief. "Are you sure we're talking about the same Death Eater here?" he prodded. "The Parkinson that I'm thinking about has two left feet, thinks two plus two equals three, and can't even cast a simple levitation charm."

"Yes. The same Parkinson that just so happens to be in my inner circle."

Alex's eyes widened. "God father, I never knew that you were so desperate!" he said pitifully. "The rest of your Death Eaters much be utter idiots if Parkinson is able to make it into your inner circle."

Voldemort cleared his throat. "Perhaps," he said leniently. "However, what Parkinson lacks in brains and magical power, he makes up in brute strength." He nodded towards the squirming robed figure in the bush. "Tell me brat, have you ever heard about the 'Larito' thorn bush?"

Alex shook his head.

"This bush is nicknamed the 'bloody knife,' due to its ability to cut through both bone and magical spells like butter," he explained. "And for security reasons, many 'Larito bushes' grown around our Hideaway...making it difficult for any spies to get it."

"Don't tell me..."

Voldemort's smile turned feral. "Yes, correct. That bush that Parkinson is squirming in right now is in fact a Larito thorn bush; however, it would do for you to note that the man does not have a single scratch upon him."

Alex frowned. "But how is that possible! You said it could cut through spells..."

"Correct again, brat." Voldemort's ruby red eyes met Alex's golden brown ones. "However, due to some weird twist in the Parkinson gene, their skin is naturally tough. So much that nothing is able to get through it."

"So are you saying most spells do not work on him?" said Alex, with mounting horror.

Voldemort shook his head. "Half-right. Only certain Light spells or the Unforgivables are capable for penetrating through that man's skin." He paused for a second. "So brat, how would you fight such an opponent as this?"

Alex chewed his lip worriedly. "I...suppose I could try stuffying him until he collapses," he tried hesitantly. "Or maybe I'll transfigure something into a bush and hopes he'll bugger off and leave me be?"

Voldemort glared.

'Or maybe not...'